Finding a Reason to Live

This is something I have struggled with sharing since January 6, 1992. That was the night that changed me forever; the night I SHOULD have died and didn't, at least not physically. Some call it an attempted suicide. I don't. I call it surviving suicide. It was no cry for help. It wasn't born in depression. I wasn't afraid of death. I had every intention of dying, and the means to accomplish my goal.

I've heard people say time and again, "Suicide is the coward's way out," or "Suicide is the most selfish action anyone can take." Of course. they probably don't know the taste of gun oil on the barrel of a Taurus 9 MM. I doubt they've ever pulled the trigger. I am positive they never heard the hammer hit the firing pin. I have. That's the story I've never told - nor the story of the abuse by a priest that I carry the blame for and shame of to this very day. Recent events in Pennsylvania brought it back again in all it's sordid glory.

I am done being a victim. I am done protecting the reputation of a dead man who stole my faith from me. A man I had to look in the eyes at my father's funeral. I wanted to kill him then and there. Even though I've never told him, my brother Steve stopped me. I know he doesn't know it; at least I believe he doesn't. Maybe he knew more than I thought, or maybe it was just pure instinct to protect his brother. Either way, I will thank him.

This book will come fast and furious when I finally begin. I won't be able to stop or I'll never have the courage to do it again.

Robert.